The Fire in our Hearts
by Raindrops Twinkling in the Sky
Summary: ғoυя rebels. тняєє liars. тωo best friends. and oηє secret that just might mean the end of єvєяyтнιηg. After a traumatizing run-in with a monster, Spark's peaceful world abruptly becomes a complicated web of deceit. Alongside unexpected allies, she goes on a quest for the truth, digging below layers of lies and danger to find answers that she needs... answers that could kill her.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yes. I know you hate me. Yes. I know you want me to update _Blood_. But honestly, plot bunnies are irresistible and this one just needed to be written. I will try my best to update weekly.**

**If you already read my stories you must be preparing yourself for a boatload of typos, but thanks to my awesome beta reader ExplosionsAreFun, it's all good and edited and revised and stuff. **

**No prologue. Too boring. (Though really, the junky paragraphs in here might be just as boring... XP)**

**Word count for my later reference: 2307**

**Begin.**

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

_If only the moon could bear my burdens_

A young dappled ginger she-cat sat in a clearing, keeping a respectful distance away from the other cats' territory. Her head hung low, shadowing her closed eyes; the only movement she made was to quietly inhale and exhale the air, which was permeated with silt a

nd other smells that she didn't know or recognize. Impatience dragged at her the way currents of water tugged fur. One white ear flicked upwards to listen as another, older cat sitting beside her spoke:

"Come. We were invited, and so we are free to walk right into my friends' den."

She took this as an call to speak, as well as permission for her to stand up from her position; it was making her start to feel uncomfortable. "It's an... an _unusual_ den," the she-cat commented lightly, biting back the other, less desirable words on the tip of her tongue; _weird_, _stupid_, _boring_. It was built entirely from strange yellow stones —_bricks_, her father had called them.

"Of course, Spark," the older cat —a tom— replied. His whiskers where turning white at the tips, but his yellow eyes were as bright as ever. "It's a Twoleg den. They —the Twolegs— call it a house."

"_Twolegs_?" The ginger she-cat, Spark, winced at the scorn in her voice; she hadn't meant to let it slip through. She'd heard an awfully large number of tales about them; tall, long-limbed pale pink creatures that wouldn't hesitate to croon over a cat and shut it up in their dens —_houses_, she reminded herself.

Her father must have heard the disdain in the word, because he reminded her for the umpteenth time: "Remember, I expect you to behave yourself when we arrive at our friends' _house_."

Spark inhaled a rush of sooty oxygen, hoping the sudden influx would stop her from vocalizing the thought running through her mind; _I _know_, father. You've _told_ me already, for stars' sake_.

Apparently it worked, because she said nothing as she followed the tom around the wooden barrier —_fence_— to the stone slab that was in front of a flap. What was that thing called —a porch? _Darn these strange Twoleg words_, Spark cursed, though it was less of a curse than a bad-tempered complaint. _Cats belong in the forest. It's downright unnatural to be dwelling in these—_

"We enter here," her father meowed, interrupting her train of thought. They slipped through the flap one at a time and entered the house. Spark's hackles rose as she entered behind the gray cat, in case a Twoleg leaped out at her; she wasn't going to become a tame kitty any time soon! The whole place was thick with a foreign scent, and Spark could tell there was lots and lots of dust. She held back a sneeze.

"Minnow, Mickey. Thank you for letting us come here." Spark's father stopped and dipped his head politely to the two cats before him; a calico she-cat and a mottled brown tom, respectively.

The two cats —_littermates or mates_? Spark wondered inwardly, though it would be rude to ask— acted just as wary as her own self, but for some strange reason their chariness seemed to be caused by her. Spark felt confused, but pushed the emotion away as the tom spoke.

"It's our pleasure," he said, almost like he was forcing himself to —as if there was some sort of bone lodged in his throat. "Come on," the tom continued. "I'll get you two some food."

"Oh, no, Mickey, you don't have to—"

"We insist," the other cat —Minnow— added. She swept her bushy white-black-orange spotted tail, stirring up dust.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Spark piped up. Inwardly, she wasn't very hungry; the nauseating tang of the "traveling herbs" Father had forced her to eat prior to the trip was still sharp on her tongue. Both cats jumped when she spoke and she quickly shut her mouth. Minnow paused, then nodded.

"You're... very welcome." Spark cocked her head at the words. Why was there a pause? Why did Minnow not make eye contact with her, the proper way to speak —or so Father had told her? It was as if neither cat wanted to speak directly to her; as a matter of fact, Minnow seemed to be looking at everything _except_ for her. Her gaze flitted around the spacious area like a nervous bird.

Mickey turned and headed down the huge den, a jingle echoing throughout the home as he walked. Spark noticed a dark purple collar around his neck and a golden bell that hung from it. As she looked closer at the two she could see Minnow had one, too, though that one was a pale red, like water diluted by blood.

Father followed the two, beckoning Spark to do the same. She walked slowly after the others, placing one paw carefully in front of the other so she didn't trip and make a mess of herself.

"Here we are," Mickey announced as they reached a section of the den. It smelled somewhat like food, but with a heated scent to it; almost as if it had been burnt. He walked over to two strangely shaped things that looked like hard yellow leaves, with a container full of rabbit droppings attached to them. Both cats went to a leaf and pushed something that looked like a blue stick —a lever. The droppings came falling out, hitting the leaves with a hard _crack_ and releasing a slightly fishy odor.

"Come on, help yourself," Minnow mewed. She leapt on to a slab of stone, right above the leaves, and Mickey followed. They both bent down, apparently to eat something and signify that they had food as well.

Spark's father walked over to one yellow leaf and started to eat. Rather awkwardly the younger cat followed, wondering if she should decline or say thank you, but she'd already thanked them and she didn't want to be redundant. Finally she ate as well, trying to crunch the pellets whilst making as little noise as possible. The food, believe it or not, had a faint foresty tang to it; it had a meaty flavor as well as the fish she'd sniffed out earlier.

After both she and Father had finished, the latter looked up at the two cats above them. "Thank you once again. Would you mind if I... chatted with you for a while, until your Twolegs come back?"

"No problem at all," Mickey said hastily. Spark's heart nearly stopped as he angled a sideways glance at her, looking more than slightly distrusting... and even _afraid_ of her. The fur on the back of her neck rose, but the look was over as quickly as it had come.

With that, Father leaped onto the same strange stone slab. Spark wanted to see if she could reach it, too, but didn't dare and she squashed the desire as soon as it had come. She noticed that neither Minnow nor Mickey called her father by a name and realized that she'd never, either; to her he was just Father, plain and simple.

Well, whatever. It wasn't important anyway. Probably.

Bored, Spark sat up and rocked back and forth on her paws. She took the time to pay more attention to her surroundings, though what she saw she couldn't describe. The stone slab stretched around the whole "room" —she remembered the word for these little compartments now— of the den, only breaking where a shining silver thing was. As Spark looked, Minnow pushed one of the two levers on the silver thing and a stream of something —was it water?— poured out and she skewered her head in a strange position so the running liquid could fall into her mouth. She pushed the lever again after having had drunk her fill and the stream stopped. Above the water dispenser there was a transparent thing that let her see the sky, which had turned a slight pink Even though the sun was still high in the sky.

Spark cast her attention to another shiny object; there was, she mused, an awful lot of them in here. She was unamused this time and swiveled her head around to see behind her. There was another "room," scattered with colorful Twoleg objects.

Rather stultified by the lack of things to do, Spark decided to do the only thing she could; eavesdrop. Besides, her father hadn't told her that she _couldn't_...

They were speaking in low voices —not exactly a whisper, but she couldn't heard any words either. Suddenly, as if he had noticed her listening intently, Father meowed loudly: "So, how's your sister's kits?"

Minnow purred, speaking at the same volume. "Rascallions they are, but they're growing up nice and strong. Apple and Timmy are as proud as ever."

Mickey nodded vigorously. "You know, I..."

The voices trailed off as Spark stopped observing them. Disappointed, she laid down and curled up, ready for the long haul.

After it seemed like forever had passed, the three grown cats' conversation wrapped up and Father left the stone slab. Spark could feel eyes burning holes into her pelt and wondered if it was Mickey, Minnow, or both.

"Thank you. We will be leaving now," her father meowed formally.

A hop, skip, and a tiring trek later the two reached their own den. It was a simple thing, no more than a slightly roomy area beneath huge protruding roots of a beech and an even less spacious hollow that Spark's father had dug beneath the crook.

"Why were they looking at me like that?" Spark asked after she finally found the right words to use.

Her father looked surprised. "Who?"

"Don't act like you didn't notice it! Mickey and Minnow!" the she-cat snapped, her temper already aflaming at his stupid "I-don't-know" act that he'd used ten thousand times too many. A small, niggling voice in her head told her that she was being stupid for getting angry over such a little thing, but she ignored it.

"All cats are wary of strangers in their territory," Father meowed gently, though to Spark's ears it sounded like he was just trying to coat the actual answer in honey.

"But not with you. And plus, they _invited_ us!"

"Even if you invited someone, you'd still be careful."

"No, because I would only let _someone I trust_ into my own land."

Her father watched her silently.

"Well? Answer me!" A thought sprung into Spark's head, and she added stiffly, "it's the same reason, isn't it?"

Father looked even more confused, but his daughter ranted on.

"That's why she abandoned me! That's why everyone I meet in the forest doesn't trust me, as if I'm suddenly going to murder them!" Spark fluffed up her pelt, hissing. "Mother left us for some reason I don't know, some reason I probably can't help, and I'm not even accepted. You won't let me get anywhere near other cats unless it's for _your_ sake!" The ginger cat growled deep in her throat, suddenly feeling the emptiness of having only one parent even stronger. She wanted to cry out: _It's not my fault!_ But instead she just stopped, breathing heavily, waiting for an answer from her semi-stunned father.

The tom closed his eyes, suddenly looking older and wearier than he was. Spark could hear a sharp inhalation.

"I'll tell you when you're ready."

Well, this time he wasn't denying it. But he wasn't giving any answers either. Frustrated, Spark tore at the ground with her unsheathed claws, unrooting strands of grass and tossing them aside in swift movements. The sharp weapons on the end of her paws left gouges in the compacted earth. "How long will that be?"

"Quite a while."

"I'm not going to wait that long! How long will it be? Moons? Seasons? Years?"

"Then prove to me that you can handle it early," Father replied steadily. He slipped past her into the dugout —it was her turn to sleep in the fork— and curled up, ready to sleep. "You're going to rest for a few days, and then we'll have another lesson," he said, his voice slightly muffled, his tone that of someone who didn't want to discuss anything anymore.

Things seemed to have calmed down a bit, and Spark was subconsciously aware of her rapidly thumping heart as it slowed down to a normal beat.

She sighed quietly. "Yes, father," she meowed, her mind clearing itself of her earlier rage; all she felt now was shame. Spark looked up at the sky, seeing stray strands of red streaking through the dark —though moon-lit— firmament. It had a slightly ominous look to it, a pale silver unguis illuminated with crimson blood. The she-cat tried to shake away the disturbing thoughts pricking at the edge of her mind like sinister, teasing fangs. It was just the sky. It had nothing to do with her Father's... secret.

She didn't feel sleepy, but nestled herself in to the crook of the beech root nonetheless and shut her eyes, willing for sleep to come quickly and rid her of her unease. But it didn't, and as the moments passed, Spark silently made a vow:

_I'll prove it to you, Father. I'll prove that I can handle this truth, what ever there is to handle... or else I will find out myself_.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Whoops, a day late. Enjoy 'nyways! Thanks again to beta reader ExplosionsAreFun~**

**Word count: 2612**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

_If only happiness could find its way here_

_Oh great heavens am I bored!_

Spark spat on the ground, the semi-revolting glob splattering onto the dirt, then rolled onto her back. She'd spent the last _ten thousand _hours sunning herself like a fat kittypet, and the patch grass below her was completely smushed under her weight. It was no longer fun to bounce on, having lost all of its springiness.

"Is the sun in the middle of the sky yet?" the she-cat — eeling and looking like a turtle that was stuck on its back— called loudly to Father. The tom in question merely turned his head sideways to look at her.

"Stop whingeing and look for yourself."

"But it's _toooooo brighttttttt, _and I don't feel like it!" Spark groused in return, raising a mock-feeble paw to bat at a fly that whizzed by her ears.

"You are the most slothful cat I've ever had the honor to meet," her father meowed. "If you're going to be that lazy, we might as well quit the whole thing."

"No!" the younger one yelped, stopping the act and leaping onto all four paws in an instant. _Never, never, never!_ "It's so _tedious_ at our home! I want to explore some!"

"Then be quiet and wait patiently." The old cat closed his eyes.

Spark sat back down and cursed under her breath, as quiet as possible; she'd get her ears nipped off if she pushed the line any further. Frustration bubbled in her, threatening to erupt at any moment now.

_Here we go._

_One... __Two... __Three..._

She got to exactly "two-thousand, five-hundred fifty-two" before Father finally, slowly, stood up.

"It's time. Let's go."

"_Yes_!" Birds stopped twittering and fluttered, making a loud racket, into the pretty blue welkin at the ginger she-cat's jubilant exclamation.

Her father dove past some brambles, rustling the dry tendrils, racing past her with the speed of a still-youthful cat. Spark followed, paws pumping with adrenaline as she pursued Father in a hot game of chase. Her feet thumped against the ground and her lungs burst for air after having spent the past few days dilly-dallying around.

Finally, just as she was gaining on the tom, the other burst through a hedge and skidded to a halt just whiskerlengths away from a fence. Spark stopped herself, nearly crashing into the aforementioned wooden barrier. She averted her gaze from the fearsome brown paling and spotted sprigs that had popped up on the ground near the fence. Each spring had at least five leaves, each looking bumpy and green. The edges were sharp yet rounded at the very tip, like snake scales.

And most importantly, it had a mouthwatering scent...

"Do you recognize this herb?" Father quizzed, looking intently at her. Spark snapped out of her reverie and responded instantly.

"Catmint!"

The gray cat gave a nod. "Also known as...?" he prompted.

"Catleaf... no, catnap... cat... cat..." A wave of shame washed over her as Spark realized she didn't know the answer.

"Catnip," her father finished for her. "But catmint works just fine. Do you know its use?"

"Cures chest infection..."

"Correct. There's several words I want you to know that mean 'chest infection.' From now on, I want you to use them." His yellow eyes, looking serious, locked with hers. "A mild infection is called whitecough. If not cured, it will become a severe greencough. There is also an uncommon, but deadly, infection called blackcough."

Spark nodded. "Whitecough," she echoed. "Greencough, blackcough."

"And do you know why we waited until it was sunhigh before having this lesson?" Father asked.

"Mmm..." Spark paused, gritting her teeth. _To test my forbearance_? she answered in her head sarcastically.

"Because the leaves will rot in storage if there's dew on it, and by now all the water will have evaporated." He didn't give her a change to comment, plowing right on in the lecture.

"Your task is to collect as much as you can and bring it back by dusk. Any funny business and I will see to it that you are confined to the den for another moon."

Spark swallowed. She usually didn't participate in "funny business," but all the same she was scared. _Father is awfully clever,_ the ginger cat thought with an inward sigh. She could see the knowing glint in his gaze. _He knows that after these last five days I wouldn't be in a hurry to get stuck in the den_.

The she-cat nodded, seeing that her father had been waiting for an action in acknowledgement of his words.

"Very well. I'll leave you on your own now."

"Yes, Father."

The tom seemed content with her reply and padded away, leaving her to start carefully plucking catmint leaves. She felt resentment burn in her belly; gathering herbs was about the most monotonous thing ever.

Then again, it was better than being stuck in the middle of their territory.

The first few minutes went by smoothly. She'd nip the stem of a plant and set it down to get another one, and another, and another. Spark was beginning to suspect that new ones were popping up every second in order to mock her and make this job endless when she heard a susurrus behind her.

Surprised, Spark turned around to see a creamy white tabby with wide blue eyes that were as dark as the deeper part of a lake. It looked to be a few moons younger than the dappled she-cat herself, and it had a pink collar around its neck.

"Hi!" the kitten mewed cheerfully. "I'm Bonnie! What's your name?"

"Spark." The elder one knew, from past experience, that ignoring kits never worked.

"Oooh, what are you doing?" 'Bonnie' asked curiously, looking at Spark's pile of catmint and pushing the other she-cat aside. _Does she have no manners_? Spark wondered, outraged. She managed not to shove the younger one back; if she did the kit would most likely break a bone.

The she-kit bounced up and down like a rabbit, and Spark was beginning to wonder if the annoying kitty's brain was working properly. "Ooh!" she meowed again, shining orbs getting even wider. The sound was starting to get on Spark's nerves. She didn't respond, despite knowing she would be pestered even further.

Bonnie continued to hop excitedly. Spark turned around, ready to chase her away with a lecture, when suddenly:

"Ah... ah... ah... _choo_!"

Within moments the pile of herbs Spark had gathered neatly were scattered around with the force of the sneeze, and some were splattered with liquid. Somewhat repulsed but mostly fuming, the ginger cat opened her jaws to speak, but was interrupted before any sound could come out.

"That's catnip! It's yummy! Can I have some of it? It would be mean to take it all for yourself!" The kittypet chattered on, oblivious to the riled she-cat. She seemed to be unaffected by the sternutation.

Spark's irritation flared. _How dare she?! The catmint was precious and could save a life of a wildcat, while this soft, stupid kittypet has its Twolegs to take care of it and wants to eat it only for pure indulgence! And she ruined my hard work! The herbs have either been contaminated or flown off to some distant land and I have to start all over again._

That was, however unreasonably, the breaking point.

_Her world changes. So does her perspective, the way she looks at life. The once bright, cheerful surroundings are now murky, hazed with red. She turns around at last and the weak kitten trembles. She briefly wonders what it sees in her to make it so terrified but brushes the thought away as if it is an annoying pest._

_The kitten —Bonda, Bondy, whatever— backs up. She advances. A small part of her cringes and hears her father's warning, but it has no influence on this new her. The new her struts up to the kit with the authority of a queen, a _king _perhaps, and hisses. There is venom in her silibate, and hidden in there are nefarious words, full of an irrational, mad hatred:__  
><em>

_"Run away, little kitty, in case I kill you. Or maybe I'll rip your legs off so you can't evade me, because killing you doesn't seem so bad."_

_Her inner self, her real self, cries out in agony and tries to make her body stop. But her treacherous paws take one more step, and another. Blood-lust glitters in her eyes, though she cannot see the absolutely horrifying strength of it. And it's not just blood she is pining for; it is this new sense of power. She is dominant over this feeble Twoleg's pet, and they both know it._

_And she loves it, because she can crush anyone and anything below her level when her mood changes one bit. They are under her control, they are her puppets. For a moment she stops, stops to soak up this feeling._

_But she can hear herself screaming —why, she doesn't know— and she finds herself retreating. With her withdraw departs the craving for authority._

_She doesn't remember any more as she flees, as her untwisted side takes over once more and she flees from the petrified creamy-white she-kit._

_She blacks out._

Spark's head hurt. She wasn't sure why, but she felt a wave of nausea and before she could even glance at her surroundings, she vomited. There wasn't much she had eaten, but she retched and coughed and choked until she felt empty.

"I'd advise you not to look around. You might puke some more."

A stranger's voice. Her age, maybe a little older, a tomcat.

Spark wasn't one for following orders, especially when they came from someone younger or as old as her, but she didn't take in her surroundings. Instead she turned to the area the voice had come from, fur on end.

The speaker was a black-and-white tom with glittering, but friendly nonetheless, amber eyes. The ginger she-cat didn't allow herself to relax; what if that bonhomie expression was no more than a fake, to lure her in and then murder her? The tom was perched on something shiny and silver. Behind him was a wall made of red bricks.

"Afraid I'll assassinate you or something?" he inquired, serenely licking a paw and using it to groom his whiskers. "Don't worry. Unlike you wildcats, I don't have a liking for bones."

"Wildcat_s_?" Spark repeated, putting emphasis on the plural.

"You know. Those Clans? WindyClan, LightningClan, er... StreamClan I think... Dark-and-scaryClan?" he meowed, apparently taking the last one as a joke.

Spark wasn't at all amused by the quip. Her father had told her to never affiliate with Clan cats. "I suppose... you could call me a loner."

That thoughtful statement seemed to pique his interest, because the tom leapt down from the silver object and landed neatly beside her. "A loner, hmmm... Care to give me your name?"

The ginger cat flinched. The words seemed somewhat familiar.

_Oh, yes... that kitten showed up... I attacked it... _Confusion and shame —no, _digust—_ washed through her. _Why_?

"Hello?" Spark felt herself being prodded by a paw. "Anyone in there? Do you not want to give me your name? Too embarrassing?"

The kitten, Bonnie, had gone off on a wild, talkative detour like this one... but for some reason, she wasn't at all annoyed by this tom in contrast to the utter vexation she'd felt with the former.

"My name is Spark," she finally replied.

"Bingo. Pleased up to make your acquaintance."

"Acquaintance, hmm?"

"Why not?"

They continued exchanging small talk in the place —she decided it was an alley of sorts— and learned little bits of trivia about one another in the process. From the conversation Spark learned that Bingo was a kittypet, albeit without a collar. He'd never eaten forest food and his "favorite color" was green. She wasn't sure why he had a favorite color, but when she asked about it:

"My mother's eyes were green." A pause, then: "I lost her."

_Lost_? Spark didn't pry further, given Bingo's strangely somber tone; she hadn't known the other for very long, but she could tell almost nothing could make him downcast. Speaking would be insensitive.

But it was apparent that an interrogation wasn't needed to satisfy her curiosity; Bingo continued talking.

"Her name was Frost. When I was little, she'd tell me stories about a group of cats she came from called the 'lick.' She said that I should never go to the mountains... One day a family of house folk came and took me and my brothers and sisters away. I visited her every day..." Spark could hear his guilt as the black-and-white patched tom went on. "But I took a two-moon hiatus... I really don't know why, it was _so stupid _of me... and when I came back she was gone..."

Bingo's voice trailed off and he looked into the distance. Spark followed his gaze and saw the ridged, long trail of mountains on the horizon. As a kit, she'd never really paid them much attention.

"You think these 'lick' cats are in the mountains." It was more of a statement and less of a question, but Bingo nodded all the same.

"That's what I think." He abruptly veered the discussion in a different direction. "Wouldn't your family be worrying by now?"

Spark inspected the sky. The sun was setting, giving off the same blood-red light as it had before. Twilight was coming. Father's words rang in her ears:

_Bring it back by dusk... _

_C__onfined to the den for a moon..._

Spark stood up and turned her paws around, urging them back in the direction of the fence, but she felt stuck to the alley. She didn't want to go back. What if that kitten was still there? How could she even look at it anymore?

What if Father had been looking for her and saw that she wasn't there? She would surely be punished.

But, most terrorizing of all: what if the kitten was _dead_?

Spark felt her head spin and she resisted throwing up again. No... her paws were clean, there was no blood... but what if...

She didn't want to go back. Not if she had to look at that scene again —it would most likely haunt her forever, especially if poor Bonnie had been murdered.

But she'd be confined to the den, for a whole _moon_...

_Father can't do anything to you if you never come back,_ a voice in her head whispered.

She spotted Bingo looking anxiously at her and, not allowing any second though, forced herself to lie. "I'm sure they'll be fine without me."

The tomcat looked unconvinced by that, but didn't comment and simply gave a shrug of his shoulders. "Then you can sleep here, if you want."

"...yeah. I will, thanks."

Bingo smiled a half-smile. "Well, there's still some time left. Do you want to hear a nursery tale Frost once told me?"

Spark nodded fervently, trying to hide her guilty conscience.

"Well, it started on a bright, sunny morning..."


	3. Chapter 3

**Word count: 2316**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

_If only every day wasn't a struggle to survive_

As one would expect, the conversation with Father didn't go very well.

"So," the tom began, gazing at her dubiously. "You say that you were gathering catmint and at some point you fell asleep, apparently too tired to _gather a bunch of herbs_, and when you woke up, every bit was gone."

"Yes, Father." Spark dipped her dappled head and closed her eyes. The lie sounded even more feebler when her father had repeated it than when she'd run it through her mind that morning...

_Spark felt herself being prodded by something sharp. As she regained consciousness she noticed that the ground below her was rough, dry, hard and stony as opposed to the normal, moist dirt of she and her father's den._

_Everything came rushing back to her. She was with that other cat... Bingo... and there had been the trauma with the kittypet..._

What have I done_?_

_That had been her first, panicked thought; had she been crazy last night? Why on earth would she want to run away from her father and "camp out" with a tom she barely knew?_

_"Hey, Spark! Wake up, wake up!"_

_Bingo. She recalled Bonnie's insistency and how nosy she was, poking her muzzle in to things that weren't her business. And that constant pestering, just the same as Bingo's..._

_So why didn't she mind him?_

_"Yeah, I'm awake, so sheath your claws!" She got up from her awkward sleeping position and looked at him. He made an apologetic mew._

_"My housefolk would probably shut me in for a whole day if I don't go back now. I wanted to wake you up before I left."_

Shut me in_..._

Confined for a moon_... _

_"Why?" was her monosyllabic reply._

_"Well, I'm pretty sure that if I slept with a stranger and woke up to find that she or he disappeared, I'd be freaking out."_

_Against her will, Spark twitched her whiskers. Bingo nodded to her, a _good-bye_ of sorts, and turned around to pad away—_

_"Wait!" _

_The patched tom glanced back over his shoulder. "Hmm?"_

_Spark shut and opened her mouth like a fish. But since she was a cat, it seemed much stupider than if she were really a fish. She felt her pelt grow warm and hoped it was just th currently blazing sun._

_"Er... care to meet me again? Here? Tomorrow maybe?" She sounded like a kit, and she didn't like it one bit._

_Surprise flickered in the other's eyes for a moment. Spark cringed, ready for rejection. Why had she even spoken in the first place?_

_But the initial shock was replaced by happiness, and he replied:_

_"I was thinking you'd never ask! What time?"_

_A small, niggling voice in Spark made her pause._

Mouse-brain! Father's fuming, and he's as watchful as a hawk! What are you doing_?!_

_The dappled ginger cat pushed it away and mewed, "I think... if it's okay with you, I think the best time wold be night. Around late dusk, maybe."_

_Bingo gave her a toothy grin. "Works for me!"_

_They parted their separate ways, Spark feeling herself cringe at the thought of going back home. It seemed only days ago she had been the obedient young daughter her father was proud of._

Why did I change_?_

A nose in her face made Spark snap back to the present. She and Father were muzzle-to-muzzle, close enough that the former could feel hot breath on her snout.

"Do I need to go back and check, to confirm you are speaking the truth?"

The dappled cat felt her heart leap into her throat and skip a beat, but she forced her fur to remain flat and calm.

"If you wish, though I would never lie to you." It was probably the most contradicting sentence Spark had even spoken in her whole life. _Show indifference. Maybe he won't get suspicious_. The ginger cat felt a flash of dubiety; what was there to hide, anyway? But the uncertainty was quickly swallowed by the larger, stronger urge to keep the secret.

Father drew back, blinking his owlish orbs. "I understand." And it seemed true; Spark could discern a glint in that yellow gaze. He knew more about this than he was letting on.

"However," the tom continued, "you failed to do as I asked and you will be punished accordingly."

The younger she-cat dipped her head, expecting a lecture, but there was none.

"Go on to the den. I have a... meeting to attend."

Spark's curiosity, which would usually be pricking right about now at the mention of a meeting, was dull and didn't react to the news. She simply followed his orders, padding in to the dugout.

She didn't even worry that it would be a boring day. It seemed that, with the murderous change that had taken place the other day, a little bit of her had died with it.

xXxOoXoOxXx

Father was back after a short period of time, smelling sharply of ferns and bracken. Though he'd obviously done so to keep Spark from scenting any other cat, she didn't even twitch a whisker. Sunhigh passed, eventually falling into late afternoon which soon melted into sunset. Twilight came and went.

And finally, _finally_ it was dusk.

Spark's paws had been fizzing —with what, she didn't know— ever since the first trace of the falling sun had appeared, and her old, signature impatience was beginning to come back. With it came apprehension.

_I can't do this_...

_But he'll be waiting_...

Her father was currently sound asleep; apparently there was nothing else for him to do. Spark could very easily sneak out if that was what she wanted.

_Is it_? asked the voice instead her head. It had grown rather insistent and annoying over the past few hours.

_Shut up_, Spark responded to herself, getting the distinct feeling that she was going insane.

Her paws finally made it one step away from Father, though they still trembled with indecision. And then another step. And another...

She continued on like that, small step by step, until she reached Twolegplace and opened her mouth to scent the air. There was soot, ash, strange Twoleg smells, and birds.

Spark caught several whiffs of cat, but one seemed as young as Bonnie, another was too feminine, and the last was that of some old cat. No Bingo.

The ginger she-cat wanted to ram her head into one of those many brick walls. Of course; she didn't even know _where_ that alley was, let alone how to get there.

"Hey, Spark!"

A shout rang the air. _Bingo_! The cat swiveled her head in the direction of the voice. _There_!

Trying, and failing, not to feel like an idiot, Spark turned towards the now-obvious dark alley and slipped in as the last rays of sunlight seemed to dwindle away.

"Bingo?" she called out as her eyes slowly began to adjust to the gloom.

Suddenly, two sparkling Amber eyes popped out at her from nowhere. "Boo!"

"_Mrrrow_!" Spark yelped, fur standing on end. "Don't scare me like that!"

There was a sharp clattering noise before Bingo spoke. His irises gleamed. Slowly, Spark began to see the alley a little better. She could make out the faint outline of the other cat's white-and-black, struggled pelt, and she could tell that the thing that had flattered was some sort of hard shape. It was a maroonish color and was laid at her paws.

"Sorry, sorry! I wanted to see your reaction." The tom gave a goofy smile and twitched his whiskers, apparently satisfied with what he'd witnessed. "I was thinking you weren't coming!"

Spark ignored the last exclamation, hoping the pangs of guilt —she'd _almost_ not come— would go away with her indifference, and gestured to the object with her paw. "What's that?"

"Hmm? Oh, that's a crunchie."

"A... _crunchie_." Spark felt stupid just saying the word.

Bingo nodded. "My housefolk give them to me all the time. It tastes good! I thought you might like it."

The she-cat shuffled her paws and leaned down to sniff the "crunchie". It had the hauntingly familiar aroma of catmint, though the trace of herb was practically swamped by a meaty scent; like the food she'd eaten at Minnow's and Mickey's, only ten thousand times stronger.

It _did_ smell nice...

"If it's good, why don't you share it with me?" Spark offered, though secretly hesitant to share food —whether it be hers or his— with an almost-stranger. She wasn't sure if she should even accept the trinket in the first place.

Bingo blinked. "Nah. I get them often enough." Then, seeing Spark's apparently guilty expression —this was a kind gift, how could she repay it?— he added, "of course, you could always catch me a mouse in return." His tail twitched.

"Mmm..." Spark hadn't eaten much recently...

She bent her neck to sample the treat. Her tongue perked at all the delicious flavors in that bite, and it instantly demanded more. "Well, if you don't mind..."

"Don't worry, eat all of it if you want!" Bingo's ears were pricked; Spark could tell that he was glad she liked his offering.

Why was this cat so easy to read, in contrast with Father? Growing up with him all her life, Spark assumed that all cats were like that; locking others other, being as secretive as a spy. She thought that all company would hold that terrible, tense atmosphere, and that socialism was not very appealing.

But maybe it was the other way around.

Spark finished the kittypet food and swiped her tongue over her muzzle, swiftly catching the crumbs stuck on there. "Thanks."

Bingo gave a humble, dismissive shrug. "No problem. We're friends, aren't we?"

The last question caught Spark off guard. Only yesterday had he accepted her as an acquaintance.

They were moving along so fast in this new "relationship"...

But the she-cat found she didn't particularly mind. She gave a smile, though even Spark herself didn't know whether it was forced or not. "Yeah."

An abrupt thought hit Spark.

"Hey, Bingo. Why did I end up in this alley yesterday anyway?"

_Why the stars didn't I ask earlier_?

Bingo looked surprised by the question. "Oh, that? You pretty much ran right into the road and I had to drag you all the way here so you wouldn't become roadkill."

"...road?"

"You know, those black paths that cars use?"

She knew what those paths were; always busy and full of monsters, smelling of asphalt and pollution.

"Don't you mean monster?"

"Monster? What have you been living under, a rock?" Bingo meowed, not unkindly. He didn't give her a chance to reply. "Cars are those huge shiny things. They take housefolk to places since their lanky legs can't walk very well." The tomcat preened obnoxiously, obviously proud he knew something that Spark didn't.

"Well. I call them monsters."

"Have it your way."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, which Bingo soon broke:

"So, tell me about you. All I know is that you don't have a favorite color and you like rabbit kits."

So Spark did, without any reconsideration; she told him about her quiet, peaceful life with Father, carefully skipping over the parts of her deceit.

"It was kind of lonely, I guess, but I didn't know what loneliness was 'til I met you."

The patchy cat beamed. "I didn't have very many friends either. I don't know where my siblings are and there's no one around my age."

"Your turn. Tell _me_ about _you_," Spark mewed, shifting her feet.

"Well, there's not much to tell. I was born as a kittypet to my mother —I don't know who my father is— and I had a sister and a brother. Their names are Iris and Peanut. One day some housefolk came and took me away. That's all."

"What about the 'lick'?" the she-cat prompted, remembering what he'd told her yesterday.

"I don't know much about them, only that they live in the mountains and Frost had some kind of grudge with them. I don't know why."

Frost, Spark recalled, was Bingo's mother.

They chatted leisurely after that, neither one lingering on the past topic. The sun had all but disappeared, the moon quickly taking its place.

"I better get back," Spark meowed with a small yawn.

Bingo looked mildly disappointed. "But you stayed last time! What's wrong with sleeping here again?"

"I'll come back tomorrow. If my father wakes up and finds me gone, I don't know what would happen." The she-cat knew those words were a mistake as soon as they flew out of her mouth.

"You didn't say you came here without permission." There was no accusation in the other's voice. Spark started to reply, but he cut her off.

"Spark... you can trust me with anything, you know." Caught by his sincerity, all Spark managed to murmur was:

"I know."

"And I won't ever judge you, or tell your secrets to someone else. That's not what friends do."

"I know."

The two had a mutual agreement to part ways; Bingo slipped away to his housefolk's house. Spark walked at a quick pace back to the den, feeling light-headed and utterly confused by the new emotions that threatened to explode out of her and shatter everything she'd built her life upon into pieces.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: See those cute italicized words down there? I added them to the past few chapters too. They are very important, so go back and reread the little lines. Their purpose will be shown in the last chapter.**

**Merry early Christmas! As a present could every reader review? Pwease?**

**This is also my last pre-written chapter, so don't expect one next week.**

**Word count: 2540**

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

_If only crooked paths would start winding straight_

After the initial planned meeting, Spark fell into an easy rhythm with her new, and first, friend. They met at the same time every day; if one didn't show up, the other would assume that Twoleg or father had interfered with the pattern. And, thankfully, Spark was getting better at ignoring the awkward feelings in the pit of her stomach at the end of each meeting. Soon, the ginger cat and Bingo were reduced to making random remarks about the weather to see who was wittier; they already knew all there was to know about the other and had little to discuss. Though they had known each other for less than two weeks, it felt like they'd been friends since forever.

One day, after a rather tiring get-together —the two had competed to see who could jump higher— Spark heard quiet talking near her and Father's territory. Intrigued, the she-cat decided not to use her usual secret path, which she had established after a close call with her father. Instead, she lowered her body into a crouch and slowly crept towards the source of the noise, then ducked behind a bush as the voices rose.

"How can you say that?! He was —_is_— your littermate, for StarClan's sake!"

Spark flinched at the sharpness in the cat's —she-cat, adult, with a slightly strange accent— tone. But although she drew back, she was still hit with full force by what came next.

"Younger brother, not littermate. And he lost the right to call himself my kin ever since he joined those–those savages."

_Father_.

That was the first word that hit Spark, making her recoil even more as if she'd been struck.

_That voice... is Father_.

Her head spun, a whirlwind of betrayal and confusion making any sane thoughts indiscernible.

Spark allowed herself to peek through the thick foliage she was hiding in. There he was. Old, gray Father. Next to him was...

_Can it be_...?

He'd always told her she was an exact replica of her mother. _"You have nothing from me. It all came from that she-cat."_

And, at least from what she could see in the dusky gloom, this she-cat looked just like a carbon copy copy of Spark; same shade of ginger, same dappled pattern, white muzzle and ears. Spark assumed that she had green eyes, though she couldn't see them from this angle.

Her brain refused to work. She found nothing from this newfound information; to put it simply, what Spark saw in front of her was no more than two strangers languidly chatting with each other.

The next statement was quieter, from the she-cat —no, _Mother._

Spark stretched her ears until they ached, and even then she could only catch a few tidbits of the sentence.

"Banished... Lique... puppets controlling puppets... mountains..."

The words made something in Spark's mind click, and the gears started turning again.

_Mountains_.

What had she heard about mountains? A week ago, maybe two? Three? Lost in her frustration, the eavesdropping she-cat missed the next few bits of exchange. The conversation had taken a turn—

"How's Sunspot?" Father.

"Same old, same old." She-cat. She murmured something else, more quietly, that the spying cat could not hear.

Spark recognized the two-word name; Father had said those strange names belonged to the Clans, the Clans that she was to never affiliate with.

So why was he standing here, _asking after_ one? _Worried_, perhaps, about it?

She could see the old gray tom blink, as if caught off guard. Spark tried not to make a sound as she tilted her head to make out the words. "Had... first taste... Fire... wandering... in shock and confusion, I believe."

"Is this normal?!" The pointedness, along with a bit of venom, had returned to the she-cat's tone. "She's _my_ kit, Tamer, not yours, and don't you forget that. If anything happens to my poor—"

_So Tamer is his real name._

_Are they talking about me?_

_What's the Fire?_

The cat was cut off by "Tamer's" calm reply. "Stella, I've been doing this for seasons. Trust me."

"Stella" made a spitting noise, and there were no more words spoken. Unexpectedly, the wind picked up and Spark was no longer downwind. Fath— _Tamer_ bristled, opening his mouth to scent the air.

"She's here. You best go."

Stella stormed away without a good-bye, obviously upset. Spark's heart beat in her throat. Tamer's owlish eyes met her own. They stared at each other until the former broke the tense silence.

"What did you hear?"

Spark padded out of the bush. No sense in hiding now. "Everything," the she-cat replied smoothly. It wasn't completely true, but the look on Tamer's face was worth it. _If he lies, I can too_.

But then she felt herself breaking, breaking in front of the cat she'd once been proud to call her paterfamilias. Her whole life...

...had been a fabrication?

"You said—" Spark felt herself choking on her words— "you said she left, that she didn't care about me. You said you were Dad, and I was your kit."

_Who are you_?

Tamer closed his eyes like he'd done so many times before, but Spark didn't feel a shred of sympathy for the cat.

The cat —not Father. Just a meaningless stranger.

"Sit down," he said at last. "And I'll explain _everything_."

Spark was about to sit down, to hear the truth and the whats, whos, and whys, but something snapped.

_She stops herself before her legs can bend. She straightens up. The real part of her recognizes this, remembers the crimson haze that blanketed the earth last time it had happened. The real part of her trembles in terror, and that part is waiting. Waiting like a rabbit under claws, knowing it will die the second after. Waiting to be possessed and to lash out at, maybe even kill, the gray feline in front of her._

_What she doesn't know is, not this time._

_This time there is no anger, no hostility; she is simply... broken. Rage is the tinder to make the Fire, and without it one cannot kindle the flame. This time it is because They are displeased; for The Tamer has attempted to foil their plans once again. It is not time for her to know. She must remain Their puppet until the scheme is in action._

_So she whips around, ignoring The Tamer, and flees as she is told to do; They do not intend to let her hear even an iota of truth, no matter what it takes. Her tired, exhausted real self does not resist at all and allows the piece of her controlled by Them to coax her —as if she was a scared kit— into an abandoned fox hole. This is where she will be safe, where she cannot be found, by either Tamer nor truth._

_And the truth is safe, as is the marionette._

_Their work is done._

_They let her go, and for the she-cat all turns dark._

xXxOoXoOxXx

_Bird_.

That, for some inexplicable reason, was the first thing that came to mind as Spark lifted her throbbing head, unaware of her surroundings. Not just bird —_birds_. Tons of them. She heard their fluttering wings as they flitted in and out of trees. They twittered sweet melodies, completely unaware and uncaring to the she-cat whose life had been ruined the night before. Because, no matter what happens—

_Life goes on_.

And if that was so, then Spark would recover.

But from what?

She tried to remember; something was clearly wrong. Why wasn't she with Fa—

Well, that was a start. There'd been a fight, she knew that much. Spark tried to think of something, but all it did was make her head pound harder and her heartbeat accelerate. Her chest felt crushed, as if it were under the heaviest weight in the world.

The she-cat's breathing was hitched, becoming ragged the longer she tried to dig through her memory. It was crazy— as if, in order to regain her memories, Spark had to go through physical excruciation. A tug-of-war of sorts; but the other side was too strong, so powerful that Spark couldn't even see her end.

_Not yet, dearie. Now's not the time_.

All the fur on Spark's neck raised in one swift motion at the honeyed voice; a sickening, fake saccharine. She felt suddenly swamped in curiosity, and it reminded her of something that happened last evening.

Or was it twilight? She didn't even know when anymore.

_Who was that_?

There was a quiet chortle, a teasing _ha-ha_ that made Spark whip around. Her pelt prickled. It had been _right there_. Stars darn it, she could still feel the lingering breath, tickling and warm, in her ear. A chill ran through the ginger cat's spine despite the warmth of the early fall.

The presence was gone as abruptly as it came, but the alluring voice danced across Spark's mind.

_Not yet_.

She felt frustration explode in her, and with it an image; a ginger she-cat, looking angry—

"Ow!"

Spark bit down on her tongue. Her mind whirled in agony, pulsating once again. It seemed that of she got even close to finding out what happened, there would be pain. And lots of it.

But the torment was gone, leaving Spark wondering if it had been an illusion. She tried again to recall the scene.

More anguish.

Spark ignored it best as she could and stood up, promptly hitting her head and sending down a shower of dirt. Where was she?

_Fox den_.

Not bothering to wonder why —it would just bring more pain, wouldn't it?— Spark padded out. First things first; she had to get food. Eat now, think later.

Because somehow she knew she wouldn't be going back home for some time.

Wherever home was...

As if on cue, the birdsong increased dramatically in volume and the young cat's stomach rumbled. She crouched down low and tucked her legs as she spotted a sparrow; she'd been taught basic hunting skills by Father—

Not Father. Tamer...

Spark braced herself, knowing well what would come next, but nothing happened. No agony, no discomfort of any sort.

Maybe it _was_ just a figment of the imagination. Spark pushed the tidbit of information to the back of her mind anyway; once she ate, she would think better.

The dappled cat bunched up her muscles and sprung from her spot next to the makeshift den, easily dispatching her target and landing on all four paws. A splatter of blood hit Spark's nose and she stuck her tongue out to wipe it away. Already the prospect of tender bird flesh was reviving her from the abyss of darkness she'd been in.

Spark dropped the fresh-kill on the forest floor, not caring where she had landed, and dug in. She ate with gusto, spitting out feathers efficiently and savoring every bit of the juicy pink meat. The she-cat —who hadn't realized how hungry she was until she took that first bite— even gnawed on the tiny neck bones, an action she would normally find irritating and unnecessary.

She felt much better after her belly was full and sat up, pondering what to do next. As she did so, words flowed in and out of her brain and replenished the empty crevasses of her mind. By doing this, she was slowly but surely being given a full summary of what had happened last night —_dusk_. After the meeting with Bingo.

Lique.

Puppets controlling puppets.

Mountains.

These were the three main points, according to Spark's strange compulsions. What did she know about the Lique?

Nothing.

Puppets controlling puppets?

No idea.

Mountains?

...scary. Tall. And Bingo...

_Bingo_!

Surely he could help her with all of this. Spark didn't know if it was selfish or not, but she pushed away any second thoughts, buried the bird bones —so clean they were shining— and opened her mouth to scent the air. Twolegplace was nearby; she could smell the stench of asphalt.

He wouldn't be there until dusk... but still, Spark could wait. It would be better than lingering around here; Tamer would pick up her scent.

Why she didn't want him to find her, she didn't know. It was like a sixth sense, almost as strong as instinct.

Spark, with only a faint sense of direction, started to trod past the dense undergrowth and thick swath of trees. She soon reached an all-too-familiar fence —the one she and Tamer had sat by right before their visit to Minnow and Mickey.

_I can find my way from here_.

And she did; the ginger she-cat quickly reached the old alley. She prepared herself, blinking her green eyes several times to adjust to the gloom and making her feet steady so she wouldn't sway. However, she wasn't prepared to see the figure sitting on the silver can.

Bingo was _already_ _there_?

He jumped down from the tall cylinder, and confirmed it: this was Bingo. Here, plain as day, in the morning.

He didn't ask her what she was doing here, and she didn't him. Spark's composure suddenly crumbled when she saw him —she didn't know why, didn't know anything, but at that moment the complete grimness of her situation came crashing down.

She was an orphan; the cat who had raised her from as far back as she could remember was not her father.

She could see his yellow eyes —was she going crazy?— and choked back a cry: _How could you_?

But the cold orbs faded, and then she saw Bingo, and suddenly Spark had ran to him and buried her muzzle in his shoulder. And she was wracked with sobs, so confused, unable to think with her constantly spinning mind.

"Breathe, Spark. Breathe."

He said her name so tenderly, firmly; just like the heartbeat she could feel under his broad chest; soft and gently yet strong. Calm. A rhythmic lullaby.

And so she breathed.

She was flooded with an absolute, though completely unexpected, certainty of the hunch that she didn't know existed until that moment.

Lique and lick... There was only a small difference, an _eeee _sound instead of an _eye_ sound. And they both had to do with the mountains...

Spark didn't know how long it took her, but the cries dwindled and she pulled away from Bingo's comforting warmth. She looked him in the eyes and he stared back at her, somehow understanding, somehow not asking her the million questions that must be flooding through his mind.

And so she spoke.

But when she was when doing so, she broke their eye contact and ducked her head, speaking more to her paws than to him.

"Bingo... I'm going to find your lick."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Looks like by some miracle I whipped up this Chapteer in time, but don't expect one next week.**

**Word count: 2235**

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><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

_If only oblivion would come take me away_

Spark didn't look up.

She was too afraid of what she would see —what there was to be afraid of, she didn't know— and utterly confused; if she took her eyes off the ground it would sway beneath her paws and shake the last of her roots away.

And despite everything, she didn't want that.

It was when she heard a sharp, loud inhalation did she dare to glance up, just a quick, rabbit-swift glimpse.

Bingo's eyes were burning, smoldering with such a calm fierceness that they looked like two twin flames. Spark found that the earth didn't quake when she took her green orbs off it, and so she met his gaze.

He was the first to speak.

"Calm down," the patchy tomcat meowed, and only then was Spark aware of her heaving flanks and labored breathing. "Start from the beginning."

She did; she told him what had happened to her. Everything, and in doing so the last bits of her memory fell into place like sunlight filtering through branches. She spoke, about going back from their meeting yesterday, running into her mother and Tamer. Bingo listened carefully, respectfully, not intercepting.

"I don't know why I ran away," Spark finished. "But I did, and I ended up here."

Bingo blinked in silent understanding. Instead of feeling fueled with rage like her old self would, —how _dare_ he try and understand, when he'd barely gone through anything as destructing?— Spark simply felt grateful that she didn't need to explain more in depth.

Telling him about the voice she'd heard was the last thing on the ginger she-cat's mind. Bingo would, for sure, think she was going crazy.

"Bingo... Think back, really really hard, back to when you were with your mother, and tell me if you know _anything_ else about the lick. Anything. Can you do that for me?" Spark winced inwardly; the words sounded insensitive, as if she only cared about herself and not Bingo's emotions.

He must have heard the desperation in her voice; the lick and Lique might be entirely different groups of cats. She might be leading herself to a dead end.

Her friend's eyes —the sudden ferociousness from before replaced with his usual warm, encouraging friendliness— misted over, as if he was remembering something from long ago. Way before he'd met her, she realized, and Spark felt an abrupt, strange twinge of... something.

He'd had a life... without her.

Bingo opened his jaws, snapping Spark back to the matter at paw.

"Puppets..."

The dappled cat's fur stood on end, spine prickling. Bingo's voice sounded strange, as if he was somewhere far, far away. She knew what he would say next.

"Controlling..."

Yes...

"Puppets."

_That's it_.

Spark shivered as her friend's eyes cleared and landed back on her. Was this truly mere coincidence, or something else...?

_No, I'm just being stupid_.

The she-cat decided that was it. Just a coincidence that two cats, both connected to the Lique, met each other.

"I was right," Spark told Bingo, who was apparently waiting for her to speak first. "Your lick is my Lique."

"Lique." Bingo said the word slowly, carefully, as if sampling the foreign syllable to see how it felt. "I think... I can remember..."

Spark padded over and pressed against him —perhaps it was an impulsive move, but the tomcat looked like he needed some support. She felt a weight on her side as Bingo allowed himself to lean on her, causing both their pelts to get hot at the contact.

A long silence passed, neither one speaking nor moving, until the sun was hanging moderately low in the sky. Spark recalled how she'd been a sobbing mess mere hours ago and twisted her head to look at Bingo, wondering how a friend could do so much in so little words or actions. The tomcat spoke at last.

"I'll go with you."

The she-cat flinched away in shock, her fur —no longer warmed by Bingo's— turning cold again in the chilly fall air. "You can't!"

"Why not?" Bingo countered, staring her down with his head cocked to one side.

"Well..." _Do you expect me to name every single thing that's wrong with this?_ "You can't hunt."

"You can teach me."

"And you're a kittypet."

"Who doesn't have a collar and ventures out every day."

"You can't fight either."

"Neither can you."

Spark winced; had she let that slip? "I know some basic defense moves," she protested.

"Using your tongue?" The black-and-white kittypet looked rather amused. The other simply snorted. Seeing that she wasn't going to offer any reply, Bingo continued.

"Besides, you'll be busy with finding out all those secrets and stuff. You can't find Frost for me. Only I can." He looked at her with a steely determination.

"I could just go back to Tamer and learn everything, then go back out and focus on finding your mother." Though she didn't know what made her run away the initial time, and she wasn't sure if she would be able to prevent herself from doing the same thing the next time.

"Something tells me that you won't."

"You know me too well." Spark swore to the stars, the words left her mouth without her consent.

Bingo gave her a feline, toothy grin. "It's settled." He flicked his tail back and forth, as if anticipating their journey.

"...the mountains are that way, right?" the she-cat asked, changing the subject, though she knew it was far too late to save face. She used her head to gesture towards the area where the sun rose, where one could see the lavender-brown silhouettes of ridged peaks lining the horizon.

"Don't know, but I think so."

The light was slowly fading away now, golden streaks fading into pinkening sky. Spark felt a sudden prick of hunger, like a claw scratching her on the inside. She eyed Bingo sideways, but if the tom was feeling peckish he didn't show it.

"Hey, if you're going to come with me, you'll have to learn how to hunt sooner rather than later." The famished ginger she-cat started the conversation casually. "Like... maybe right now, since we have nothing else to do."

"Sure." Bingo looked bright as he stood up and shook out each paw. Spark did the same, stretching and readying herself for a successful hunt.

"Well, I know a patch of forest where there's a good chance of catching prey. This could be your chance to chase forest food."

The last sentence seemed to perk the bi-colored kittypet even more. "Lead the way!"

Not a moment too soon, they had reached their destination. Spark cast her gaze around. Crisp brown and green fern leaves poked out from here and there. Lichen hung off big rough stones in strips and bright green moss clung to old, dark oak and sycamore trees. Orange and yellow leaves scattered over a wide expanse of springy grass.

Bingo emitted a gasp, causing the other to glance his way. The young tom's eyes were wide open, stretching at the corners and looking like they were about to burst. Despite herself, Spark twitched a white whisker. She didn't recall being so shocked when she'd first came out of the den.

Well, maybe she could, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to. A majestic-looking bird —a thrush of sorts— puffed its chest out and gave a loud whistle, as if announcing the hunters' presences.

"_Woahhhhhh_."

Spark blinked at the whispered exclamation; already Bingo understood the value of being quiet. Eying the thrush, the ginger cat dropped down into a natural hunting crouch, paws lifting and falling silently in their positions on to the forest floor. Blood pounded in Spark's ears as she got lost in the thrill of the hunt. She was only vaguely aware of her friend watching nearby.

_Should I stalk or spring_?

The huntress was hesitant at first, but closed her eyes allowed Tamer's scratchy voice to guide her. _Evaluate the distance between you and the target. If it's a land target, stalk backwards without making noise and then jump; you're not the best at up-close catching. If it's a bird, then it depends on the breed. Larger birds should be caught with stalking, whilst smaller ones you can spring on._

Thrush. Moderately small.

Spark tightened her legs and then leapt, snapping the bird's neck and cutting it off as it gave another sharp call. The soft breast feathers tickled her nose as she landed not-too-gracefully into a heap. Bingo dashed over, sending up a spray of dust as he went. The she-cat, aware of her hunger once more, spat out the bird and got to her paws.

"What did you see me do first?" she quizzed Bingo. That was the way Tamer had started her first hunting lesson.

"Crouch," the tom answered with a blink, though it seemed his attention was focused more on the fresh-kill than her.

"You do it."

Bingo stared at the she-cat as if she'd grown two heads. Spark sighed, ignoring her belly's whines of protest —she was _starved_!— and repeated her command.

"Get in to a crouch."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." She wound her way past the twigs to step in front of the prey, blocking it from Bingo's view.

The patchy kittypet didn't argue and did a crouch to the best of his ability. Spark choked on a wince. He looked awkward and lopsided, paws not in sync and tail stiffer than a piece of wood.

Was she really cut out to be a teacher? It would be better just to leave to the Lique one day and not tell Bingo about it at all... But she knew she wouldn't.

_Unlike some cats, I don't lie and cheat to get my way around._

"Well, first, relax your tail. Don't let it drag in the leaves and keep it still, but don't tense it up."

"Like this?" Bingo's tail quivered for a moment, the drooped a fraction of a mouse-length.

"Keep it steady."

Once she had assured that his tail was perfect, the "teacher" nudged Bingo's splayed, topsy-turvy hind haunch until it shifted into correct posture, then stood back to look at her work.

Something was still wrong. "Hold that stance for a moment," Spark meowed to Bingo and got in to a hunting stance herself.

_Aha!_

"Tuck in your front paws, and arch your back a little more. That should do it."

Bingo did so, and soon he was in a moderately good crouch, if not perfect. "It doesn't feel right," the black-and-white cat complained, only to be shushed by Spark's tail.

"Nothing feels right at first," she retorted. "Now bunch your muscles up, like you're going to jump. She scanned the woodland for a good target. Her "student" snorted and grumbled something under his breath, but Spark could see his body contract and tighten.

"Now, see that stick?" Bingo raised his head as Spark padded over to a twig; smooth, straight, and the length of a squirrel including its tail. "Jump on it like you saw me do with that bird."

"But the bird was in a tree!" the feline complained, darting glances now and then at the still uneaten thrush after Spark had let it back in his eyesight.

"Deal with it."

Unexpectedly, with a loud _thump_, Bingo disappeared from his spot on the ground. Spark stared at the empty space, blinking for a few moments before realizing he was already airborne. As the flying cat was about to land square on his "prey," Spark quickly dislodged the stick from its resting place and it skidded to the side. Bingo landed on grass and leaves.

"Hey!"

"That's what a real mouse would've done. It could've seen your shadow, felt your paws, and heard you."

"You could've told me that earlier. Besides, how can I hide my shadow?"

"Attack the prey from a different angle."

When Bingo simply gave her a mock-mutinous glare, Spark huffed. "Well, it's not like everyone gets it on the first try. Let's call it a day. There's forest food waiting to be eaten, and I bet you ten mouse tails it tastes better than your _crunchie_." She padded over to the fresh-kill and gestured with her head for Bingo to join. The kittypet's tail-tip twitched excitedly as he took his place beside his friend to eat.

_The sky's getting dark_, Spark noted.

"Well, Bingo, consider this a taste of what the journey to the Lique will be like —you'll be camping out with me every night, eating nothing but fo— mountain prey, not to mention that we'll be walking the whole day," she meowed, the added teasingly, "so are you sure you're up for it?"

The other cat's eyes gleamed as his amber gaze met her green. "Count me in!"


End file.
